


the sole survivor

by sweetwatersong



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Early Days, Gen, Team Dynamics, Team Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Natasha have both climbed out of worse disasters than most people can imagine, but there is a difference between letting yourself down and letting those who trust you come to harm.</p><p>At 3AM in an empty kitchen, they deal with the aftermath of that reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sole survivor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to andibeth82, who wanted to know the rest of the story. :)

“You don’t have to go it alone anymore, Stark.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I do.” It’s a hurled statement that echoes in the kitchen as he lashes out in self-defense, because it’s been twelve hours since the afternoon battle and thirteen since he thought, thought that – Tony shuts down the memory ruthlessly, stuffs it somewhere beneath his breastbone and tries to forget. Instead, he turns with the words and stares at her, his breathing uneven, his heart rate accelerated. They're all his tells and he knows it, he _knows_ it, but this is Natasha watching him with steady eyes. This is Natasha, who is so much like him it’s terrifying, and he draws in a breath. 

“Whatever this is, whatever Fury wanted, he’s got it. Just take a look around you. You’re all living here, you’re all calling yourselves Avengers. But at the end of the day, it’s still going to be me doing what needs to be done. The rest of you can come along for the ride if you want to.”

Her gray eyes are level, her expression calm, but there is a shadow under her dark eyelashes he recognizes.

Of course he does; it’s what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

“Four years ago you were making weapons of mass destruction,” she says, and it’s like a punch in the gut. Before he can retaliate or retreat, she continues. “And look where you are now. You think you can’t change, but you let a World War 2 soldier, two known spies, a demi-god and a monster live under your roof. You invited us in, Stark. You threw open your doors and called us to come, and you would only do that if you cared.” Natasha’s eyelashes drop, the movement slow and careful, and she exhales. “It’s caring that makes you pull stunts like the one yesterday.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sits on a chair by the island, elbow resting on the cool granite as she watches him, and he drifts closer without meaning to, finds his own hand resting on the back of another chair.

“We choose to face death alone.” It’s the honesty in her gaze, the vulnerability she is allowing him to glimpse, which makes it a pronoun for the two of them alone. “It’s easier to handle ourselves getting hurt than letting others down.” 

Tony flinches, a minute reaction that screams volumes for anyone who can see it. Natasha considers him, bruises on her cheek and raw scrapes over her collarbone, in repose as still as any statue but without the marble heart so many attribute to her.

“We throw ourselves into harm’s way because we know we can crawl out again, we can drag ourselves from the rubble. How many times have you done that, Stark? Have you lost count yet?” She gives away her own answer with a wry twist of her lips. “We know we can survive. But to imagine what might happen if someone else is there, if someone else gets wounded,” and her eyelashes sweep down again, sorrow readable in the crook of her mouth. “That’s worse than being injured ourselves. And now you have an entire team of people who say they depend on you, who are willing to step into the fray. You're asking yourself, how can you keep them safe? How can you make sure they don’t get hurt because they counted on you? The answer is simple: you take care of the problem before that can happen.”

There is silence in the kitchen, a quiet that’s almost unrecognizable. There’s always background noise in the Tower, from the fabrication units to the city traffic or the hum of the air conditioning, but in this moment Tony can’t hear anything but an all-encompassing peace.

“I had a chance to finish the fight. I took it.”

“And nearly finished yourself off, because you have to be the only hero.”

“That’s not –“

“I know, Tony. Weren’t you listening?” There is compassion there, veiled under her exhaustion, and Tony feels the knot of anxiety beneath his arc reactor unravel a little more. “Trust them. They can hold their own, better than you believe they can. And they need to know they can trust you in return.”

“And what about you?”

Her lips quirk. 

“I live above nine floors of Stark Industries R&D and three of your personal labs. If you don’t think I trust you, Tony, you’re not paying attention.”

He huffs a laugh and looks away. "I’ve always done things on my own. Always. And now there’s a team, and these people, and that doesn’t change who I am. What I’ve done. And it definitely doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know what to do with you all.”

And he doesn't know why he's saying this, doesn't know where the tumbling words are coming from, but it's so much easier to admit than he thought it would be.

“Feeding us would be a start,” she replies, and he points a finger at her.

“Are you actually trying to guilt me into cooking for you? This whole, this touchy-feely thing, this is just one of your nefarious schemes to make me do what you want, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter, it’s three in the morning, I refuse on principle to fire up the stove.”

“You don’t have any principles, Stark.”

So Tony makes pancakes because it’s three AM and Natasha has subjected the nearly-empty cupboards to a glare he is pathetically grateful not to be on the receiving end of, and at least there’s a box of Bisquick still left. It’s food, Tony has a thing about food and emotions in that he doesn’t know how to deal with either of them but one is easier avoid than the other, and both are easier to deal with than a barefoot Russian assassin unearthing butter and jam from the fridge.

Despite the fact that it’s still dark outside Steve shows up halfway through the first batch, tape around his fingers and sweat in his tousled hair. Bruce comes in shortly afterward with a mug of coffee that’s been cooling in his lab since midnight, and Clint – God only knows where Clint’s been and when the hell he showed up – toes open the fridge from his spot on top of it to let Natasha get the second bottle of bona fida maple syrup.

It’s a given that Thor’s returning early because Thor always arrives when someone’s cooking, and Tony privately swears Heimdall gets commissions for timed deliveries. Sure enough he’s just put the finishing touches on a stack of pancakes thicker than his MIT thesis when JARVIS lets the Asgardian in through the balcony door.

Then somehow there are strawberries on the table, washed and scrubbed with the tops cut off, and bacon fresh from a sizzling pan, and pitchers scattered across the white linen with a bunch of really weird alien flowers in a vase. Tony can’t remember when he got a vase, or where it might have been unearthed from.

When all is said and done they have pancakes in the early dawn of New York City’s skyline, eating drizzly bites and washing it all down with orange juice and milk or scattered cups of tea that steam gently in the morning air. And it’s strange and familiar all at once, and Tony catches Natasha’s eye as their teammates converse around them.

Being the lone gun is who they have both been. Being part of a team may very well be what they’re becoming.

And really, it’s not so bad after all.


End file.
